


Sometimes You Just Know

by DrimmsyDra



Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 23:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17876861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrimmsyDra/pseuds/DrimmsyDra
Summary: We all need a close friend sometimes.Lost in his thoughts and black mood, Templeton Peck suddenly realizes he has one.





	Sometimes You Just Know

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my first A-Team story but it's the first one written in English. One of my friends (thank you, Dean!) was very kind and helped me with some corrections because my mother tongue is Czech and I still struggle with English.

Occasionally, there are days when I want to let someone shoot me. I know you would have warned me not to blaspheme, which is a bit of a paradox considering from the two of us, it’s me who believes in God. But for you, it's not about God. It is blasphemy against life. And you know what? Life can be a bitch. With a big bruise instead of my body, a piece of Swiss cheese instead of my perfect Italian suit and under my nails something I'm better off not knowing exactly what it was, I'm pretty sick of my life.One merciful enemy bullet would be a great solution. I just wouldn't like to get it in my head, even after my death I would like to keep my name.

But seriously, I'm sitting here on a motel bed with a lumpy mattress, leaning against a wall that has clearly been in need of a re-paint for a good five years, pretending to read Hannibal's morning papers. Instead I’m peeking over the edge of the leaves watching you in sleep. We are in the midst of a hard mission; every now and then we are threatened by someone blowing us up in the air. I nearly lost my hand this morning and you almost broke your neck. And yet you are sleeping in an armchair so peacefully, those long legs of yours pressed against your body with that childlike innocent smile on your lips, while I pretend to be fine but inside I'm shuddering like a kicked little pinscher. Even with your diagnosis, with a bag full of your medicine where I have to add a newly-packed bottle before every mission, and all the Veteran Hospital staff who insist you are insane and suffer from a serious mental disorder, I got a feeling you are so much stronger than I am.

And when you laugh at your doctor right into his eyes and make up some crazy stories just to kill time at your session, I would probably give my corvette for a chance to talk to someone who would listen to me and offer me help, or at least comfort. But it's not possible. Templeton Peck always keeps his poker face, never opens his heart to anyone. Never even admits that he needs something like that. That he is drowning inside and needs to be saved. Your life is easier and you don't even know it.

Though you may know. You know a lot of things and it often scares me what goes on inside your crazy head.

But there are still things of which you haven't the slightest idea. You simply can't. You can't know I'm watching you now. That I contemplate how your lips are gently shaking when you exhale with slightly open mouth. Maybe you’re saying something inaudibly. No screaming today, thank God.

I can see your baseball cap slid to the side and your hair usually combed from your forehead sticks up in all directions giving you the look of a cute little rascal that you once seemed to be before the war took dreams and reality from you.

Instead of the blanket, you are clutching your worn flight jacket. I'm surprised you took it off. Sometimes it looks like you wear it even to the shower.

And right now, you can't really know what I want to do. That I'd like to sweep that old jacket off and take you in my arms. Just as I did in 'Nam when you were scared and lost in your own world. Well, you don't need this embrace anymore but I do. I need to know that we're still here. Alive and breathing. That the world doesn't fall into ruin and you are all around me and I'm not alone. I know I'm not alone but you - especially you - would understand how I mean it. Just hug you and hold you until the last doubt is lost. But like so many other things I can't do it.

Firstly, BA is sleeping on the bed six feet away from you and I don't want to wake him up and hear any of his giggling comments. Do you understand his giggle? How can a man the size of a small walking mountain giggle like this?

Secondly, you. You would understand. You would understand it very well and I'm sure you could help me because you know pretty well the darkness and all its recess. That's why I can't do it. I'm Faceman. The one who holds you, not the other way. The one who always knows what to say and what to do. I have no right to be on the verge of a breakdown. And I have no right to ask for comfort from you at all. You rely on me and I have promised myself, many years ago in that damn blood-smelling jungle, that I won't disappoint you. Never.

It's just occasionally hard to live with only myself alone. Stand proud with a fake smile saying "I'm fine." Just be the indefatigable conman who always marches through every trouble and comes out with an immaculate suit (uhm, so how did the last one end up as a tear-off calendar?) and a long-legged lady at his side. With two ladies when he's lucky, one on each side. But does anyone care about how the guy feels inside? Does he really have everything he wishes? You want to know the truth? Despite all the luxury houses and apartments, despite all the models and the admiringly sighing beauties, expensive suits and silk ties, even my beloved vette, I have practically nothing.

Everybody sees a smile and a pretty face but no one cares what's inside. Everyone just takes from me and they don't ask what I want. And I say nothing because nobody cares, no one wants to hear it. As soon as I cease to smile, when I stop giving and simply admit that I'm not perfect, everyone will lose interest in me and I'll be really alone. And that's what I'm afraid of the most. Well, people could argue that I should be accustomed to it, and I probably should, but there are things you can't get used to. The longer it lasts, the worse it is. And the more I hate my life.

So I watch you sleeping and I envy you. Really. Maybe you have less material things than I do but you're the one truly rich, you know. Or at least you used to be. Once, a long time ago you had a family. You know what it is like and when you get it again, you'll know how to deal with it. I don‘t. And you have your hope and optimism, also the whole sky where you can fly when the ground is too hard. And a psychiatrist to talk to. And yeah, you have the most chocolate eyes that can exist. Full of tenderness and love… if you wanted you could seduce every woman. Even those I have no chance of getting.

Hey, you‘ve just opened those puppy eyes sleepily and believe me, nobody resists this look of yours.

Oh, you noticed I was watching. I'll never understand how you can be on alert as soon as you open your eyes. I had a problem with it even in the trench where I could lose my life. I usually need at least 15 minutes and a cup of coffee to get myself into operation but you do it immediately. I should have kept it in mind and not stare at you but it doesn't matter. I'm showing one of my best scamming smiles and you're giving back the honest bright-eyed grin that can turn the cloudy winter day into sunny summer.

Looking back to the newspapers I pretend to be very interested in the LA political scene and I wait for your question if I'd like to get coffee or tea, or if you can take a page with comics from the papers. You remain silent. It's kind of surprising and I'm curiously peeking out. I can hardly control myself not to flinch. You're standing right over me, I never heard you get up and walk closer. Confused by the way you stare at me I'm looking at you and you still say nothing. I have learned that if you are quiet, something serious is happening.

"What?" I ask irritated by my own uneasiness. Your expression makes me pretty nervous.

Instead of answering, you smile at me again and fall down onto the bed beside me with no shyness. Now I feel very nervous from what you're doing. From the way you look at me… I want to turn away but I can't. I take a breath to repeat my question but before I can only say a single letter, you lean forward and unexpectedly squeeze me in your arms.

My initial reaction is to wrench myself free, push you away… but you hold me tight; with your head on my shoulder, your body still warm from the healing sleep… oh boy, this is exactly what I need. Yeah, only this…

The papers slipped out of my hands and fell on the floor with a soft rustle.

I feel my eyes are geting wet and I quickly blink tears back. I take a deep shuddering breath.

"How… how did you know?" I whisper quietly. Only you can hear it. Not that someone would listen. BA's sawing lumber - no, I'm not going to hum that crazy song about lumberjack you sing every time you hear that word - and Hannibal is out keeping watch. I have to relieve him in two hours. So nobody can hear us but still, my shaky voice doesn't let me speak louder.

You're breathing on my neck; two breaths before you raise your head and once again, you focus the two big chocolate ponds on me.

"Sometimes you just know, Faceman."

"But… how?" I have to ask. I really don't understand how you could know it. You slept all that time… or you didn't?

"Let's just say someone can see things only by eyes and someone else…" you’ve left the sentence unfinished and instead of words, you let your hand slide on my chest and tap the place where my heart beats under the ribs. I must blink again. You pretend not to notice but I know you can see it. Returning your hand back around my shoulder, you hug me tight again.

"You have more than ya think, muchacho," you whisper as my hands wrap around your lean form. Yes, I probably do. It's just someone has to show me because I look at the world only with my eyes and sometimes I'm damn blind…

 

THE END


End file.
